


Real Commotion

by jill_ian



Category: Actor RPF, Martin and Lewis, Martin and Lewis RPF
Genre: 5 Times, 5+1 Things, First Kiss, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 16:49:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17328788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jill_ian/pseuds/jill_ian
Summary: Or five times Dean really wanted to kiss Jerry and the one time he finally did.





	Real Commotion

**1.**

The first time it was happened was quick. Over faster than it hit him. Almost like getting struck by lightning.

They’d sort of known each other for a while now. They would hang around the same types of clubs with the same types of people and knew each other well enough. There were times Jerry would play a club a day or two before Dean and leave him a message on the dressing room mirror. There were times Dean was booked somewhere far across the country and would wind up sending him a postcard.

When they wound up on the same bill at the Havana-Madrid for a three-week stretch, it felt like it had been a long time coming. They’d been circling each other for about a year so it was bound to happen sometime. It was a little like fate.

He would stand and watch Jerry do his pantomime bit from the wings, laughing as he watched him contort his face in more ways than Dean knew to be physically or humanly possible. When he went on a few acts later, he could see Jerry in the audience, either at a table or at the bar, watching him as he sang.

That was as far as that went, at least for the first few days.

When the kid actually interrupted his act and _got up on stage with him_ , he didn’t know what to do. Should he get mad? Should he push him off? Should he ignore him? All the possibilities flashed through his mind in an instant and in that split second, he had to make his decision. Ultimately, he played it cool and went along with it and before they knew it, the audience was eating out of the palms of their hands.

After that, it wasn’t like it was a regular thing for them to get up on stage together. There were shows where Dean would make Jerry’s record player jump in the middle of a song and there were other shows where Jerry would heckle him or distract the audience while he sang. Those things only usually happened during the last show, when there were more waiters than audience members and they weren’t so scared of the club owner getting mad at them. More often than not, they’d do their own acts straight through and separately.

But the days where they did do stuff together, it felt a bit like magic and Dean didn’t want to spoil it by thinking about it too hard.

Tonight was one of those rare nights when they tapped into that magic and played around with it. They were a hit, everyone in the audience, including the waiters, was roaring with laughter unlike anything they’d ever heard before. It was intoxicating and they were so enthralled by it that they didn’t notice they’d gone an hour over their slot. Not that anyone was rushing them off.

So by the time they finally got back to the large, shared dressing room in the back, they were firmly planted up on cloud nine.

“A whole _hour_ over? Can you believe that?” Jerry asked excitedly.

“I’ve had nights I couldn’t fill 20 minutes,” Dean laughed. “I didn’t know an hour and a half could feel so easy.”

“Me neither.” Dean watched as something seemed to click in Jerry’s mind; his eyes brightened and his smile grew impossibly wider. “Maybe we got something here, Paul.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know. You ‘n me.” He motioned between them.

“We’re pals, ain’t we?”

“’Course we’re pals. But that’s down here.” He pointed at the floor. “I’m talking about up there.” He then pointed at the door and Dean knew he was talking about being up on the stage.

Dean was curious now. “You mean like a double?”

“Yeah, like a double.”

He paused while he let the idea settle in his mind. “I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“’Cause we do singles,” he explained almost matter-of-factly. “You go up there and mime and I go up there and sing and that’s the way it goes.”

Apparently Jerry wasn’t willing it let it slide that easily. “You never wanted anything more than that?”

“Of course I want more than that, but you’re talking like we’ve got an act here or something.”

“You heard the way they were all laughing. You wouldn’t call that an act?”

Dean shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“What would you call it then?” He pushed.

“Two dopes clowning around on stage in the middle of the night because they’re bored.”

“And you don’t think that could be something people would want to see?”

“I don’t know any club owner in their right mind that would book us for running around and dumping water on each other.”

“If they heard that crowd tonight, they would.”

“You’re crackin’,” Dean laughed again, shrugging off the idea. “Come on. I think you need a drink to screw your head back on straight.”

Jerry sighed despite the infectious smile that was still shaping his lips, but something told Dean he wouldn’t be letting the idea go that easily now that it’d taken root in his mind.

“You lead the way, buddy boy.” Jerry threw an arm around his shoulders and kissed him on the cheek with a loud smack.

Dean blinked hard and when he turned his head to gawk at him, Jerry was so close that their noses were nearly touching. The proximity caught him off guard and his eyes instinctively went down to Jerry’s lips.

_Oh._

The sudden urge to lean forward and kiss him smacked him in the face. His heart skipped a beat at the idea.

He couldn’t.

He wiped away the thought with a smile, reaching a hand around to ruffle Jerry’s hair, only to get an obscene amount of pomade stuck on his fingers.

“You ought to cool it with that stuff, kid.” He wiped them on his pant leg with a faux look of disgust. “You ever lost anything in there?”

“Now that you mention it. My father’s been missing a while. You don’t think…” He didn’t miss a beat and Dean laughed, loud and easy.

The rest of the night passed normally. They hung out for a while and got drinks before they parted ways. Jerry didn’t bring up the doubles idea again, though Dean could see the wheels still turning in his head. It was a bright little dream, but it would never work.

Dean was feeling a little anxious though. He hoped desperately that Jerry hadn’t noticed his hesitation. His momentary lapse in judgment. And sanity.

He couldn’t afford to complicate one of the first real friendships he’d had since leaving Ohio and going it on his own. Jerry made his life brighter when he was there and Dean wasn’t willing to risk losing that on a whim.

Not yet anyway.

 

* * *

 

 **2.**  

The next time it happened was only a month or so after they’d really started hanging around together. They’d still pal around on stage here and there and whatever casual friendship they’d had before was turning into something with a real foundation.

They were seeing an awful lot of each other now, too, not just when they were booked for the same gig, but all around town. Sometimes they’d wind up in the same club by accident and end up finding each other, other times they’d plan to meet somewhere.

Tonight had been a mixture of both. A surprise for Dean, but a plan for Jerry.

Dean was taken aback when Jerry called him up and asked him if he’d want to see Sinatra at the Paramount, as if he would ever say no. Jerry played it off like it was no big deal and told him somebody had just thrown him the tickets, but Dean knew better. Nobody threw anybody tickets for Sinatra.

He was sort of touched that the kid had thought of him to go and could tell he’d been to hell and back to get them in, even if Jerry would never admit it. So, he accepted and off to the show they went.

The theatre was absolutely insane, nothing like Dean had ever really seen before. They were thrown into what felt like a sea of people that were buzzing beforehand and absolutely wild during. The place held thousands of people and it was certainly filled to capacity.

Personal space was at an absolute minimum, if not basically nonexistent. During the opening act, when things were a little calmer, they had a few inches of space between them, but the moment the lights went down and the madness really began, the crowd got so wild that the space between them disappeared. When all of a sudden, their sides were completely pressed together, Dean thought he felt his heart stop, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the music.

He tried not to think about it. They were there to see Sinatra, who was, after all, someone he really looked up to, but God was he struggling. At certain points it got even worse because in his peripheral vision he could see Jerry turn his head to look at him. He was probably just checking to make sure Dean was having a good time, but it took a considerable amount of willpower to keep his gaze set straight ahead, no matter how much he wanted to turn his head and catch his eyes.

Or put an arm around his waist and pull him even closer.

The thought was so tempting he had to keep his hands clasped in front of him to keep from doing something rash.

To say they were stunned would be an understatement. It had been over an hour and they had yet to exchange more than a few words. They weren’t ready to let the night go, so they made their way back to the drugstore next to Dean’s hotel, where Dean ordered a coffee and Jerry ordered a milkshake.

Gradually, they found the words to talk about the show. The discussed everything, ranging from Sinatra’s voice, to his suit and his suntan, to the band, to the insanity of the crowd. Everything.

Eventually they drifted to other topics, never missing a beat or feeling a lull in the conversation. It was only when Jerry tried and failed to hide a big fat yawn that Dean realized how late it probably was.

“Past your bedtime?” Dean teased. The comment caused Jerry to throw an exaggerated pout in his direction, which made him chuckle. He pulled his jacket sleeve back from where it was covering his watch and saw that it was nearing 3 AM. “I think it might be time to call it a night.”

Dean didn’t miss the way Jerry’s eyes fell to watch the inside of his glass. He nodded. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“Say, where’re you staying?”

“Little joint a few blocks over. Nothing too fancy.” Jerry was idly swirling the last of his milkshake with the straw. “Why?”

“What do you mean, _‘Why’_? I’m gonna walk with ya.”

“That’s real nice, Paul, but you don’t gotta do that. Your place is right here.” His words were ones of protest, but the way his smile grew told Dean he was doing the right thing.

“I know I don’t gotta, but I already decided so don’t waste your breath, buster.”

“Alright,” Jerry laughed. He put his lips around the straw to finish off his milkshake, which Dean definitely did _not_ stop to watch, before they stood and headed off in the direction of Jerry’s hotel.

It was closer than Dean expected, only seven blocks away, not that he minded anyway. 3 AM meant normal city streets were relatively empty and quiet. April meant that the seasons were beginning to change from winter to spring, with days comfortably warm and nights comfortably cool. Walking with Jerry meant conversation that came all too easily and smiles so wide his cheeks would ache. Times like this helped Dean breathe a little easier.

Jerry stopped them at the foot of a small hotel that only had maybe five or six floors. Even though the sidewalks were completely empty, they had walked basically shoulder to shoulder the entire way there, strongly echoing the way they’d been during the show. So when they turned to face each other, the gap left between them was small, but neither of them took a step back to widen it.

“This your stop?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, this is me.” Jerry’s smile was bashful. His eyes fell to a spot on Dean’s chest.

“Thanks, you know.”

“For what?”

He nonchalantly reached his right hand across the short distance to smooth out the lapel of Dean’s coat and Dean felt like all the air was punched from his lungs. Jerry balled his hand and gently pinched the lapel between the knuckle of his forefinger and his thumb, his fist effectively resting against Dean’s chest.

He swallowed hard, trying to stay focused. “For letting me tag along for the show.”

“Oh, that was nothin’,” Jerry shrugged, eyes finding his. “The lady who threw me the tickets said, _‘Now go have fun, but don’t show up unless you bring that Dean Martin fella with ya,’_ so I didn’t really have a choice.”

He was still trying to play it off cool and Dean wasn’t sure if it was that or the hazy streetlights or the chilly air or maybe a combination of all three, but he could’ve sworn Jerry’s cheeks were shaded pink.

Dean wondered if he could feel how hard his heart was beating.

His hands were in fists at his sides and there was conscious thought in the action, doing his very best not to reach out and touch him back. There was no mistaking the fact that Jerry was looking straight at his lips now. Dean couldn’t help but do the same and he could feel his nails cutting into his palms.

The thought struck him that whole night had been like a date. It would’ve definitely been called a date in any other situation. And at the end of any date that went well, and this had gone well, you would end the night with a kiss.

And now here they were, barely inches away, essentially breathing each other’s air, and Dean almost lost his cool.

Maybe he could do it. Maybe he could reach across and put his hand on Jerry’s cheek. Maybe he could just lean forward and…

No. No, he shouldn’t. He wanted to. Boy, he wanted to. But he couldn’t.

Jerry didn’t want that and he couldn’t ruin their friendship by doing something so selfish.

“Well, I’m glad you listened.” He said, breaking their silence, causing Jerry to pull his hand back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Right,” Jerry nodded, taking a step back towards the door. “Wanna catch lunch or something?”

The hopeful tone tugged at Dean’s chest. “Sure thing.”

Jerry’s smile widened. “I’ll swing by your place around 1?”

“Peachy.” Dean stuffed his hands in his pockets, reluctant to leave, but he knew he was going to have to be the one to make the move to do so. He gave him one final look, before saying, “Night, Jer.”

Jerry’s smile shifted crooked to one side. “Night, Paul.”

Dean threw him one last smile and started his walk back to his hotel, completely missing the way Jerry didn’t move a muscle towards the door, watching him walk until he was no bigger than a speck of dust in the distance.

 

* * *

 

**3.**

The third time it happened, it would seem like very little had changed, save for the location, not to mention the fact that they were legitimate partners now. They were well into their summer stint at the 500 Club in Atlantic City doing what felt like fifty shows a night, seven nights a week. They stayed in the Princess Hotel and got ready in their folding chair they pretended was a dressing room. It took a little getting used to, but they caught the hang of their crazy schedule quickly and soon it became a routine.

The reality was that _everything_ was changing. There were lines out the door and around the block every night for every one of their three shows. They were getting offers left and right to do a gig at this club here and that club there; not just tiny little joints either. The Copa was calling on line one and the Paramount was on line two.

Things were looking up. An audience member might not know it if they came to see a show or two; they probably thought they were only seeing the season’s hottest trend. Maybe they thought the two of them were this summer’s wonder boys to be all but forgotten come the time the snow started falling.

But Dean and Jerry knew better.

They knew how important every show was. How important it was to prove to everybody what they had. To prove that there was something happening between them. Something different. Something special. Something worth noticing.

And that’s why it felt like a complete and total punch in the gut one night in late August when they were getting ready for their last show at 2:30 AM, jittery and excited as always, to find out that it had been cancelled. The mood of the room changed on a dime.

They sat there, dejected and slightly numb, as they listened to the excuses pour out as to why this was happening, but to them it didn’t much matter, nor did they care.

When Dean glanced over at Jerry, he wasn’t even looking over at the club owner as he spoke. He was sitting forward, his elbows resting on the tops of his thighs, his fists pillowing his chin. His lips were drawn together in a tight, pouty frown. Dean didn’t blame him.

As tedious as all the shows might get night after night, their last show was usually the most fun. Crowds were looser and slightly drunker, meaning the laughs came faster and easier. They had more room to play in an environment like that. More room to be outrageous, to stray off script, to try out new material. It was always something fun to look forward to at the end of a long day.

Now here they were with no show to do, left alone as the club owner made his way out of their dressing room. Silence followed the slam of the door. Jerry hadn’t so much as moved a muscle in minutes and Dean felt like the stillness was beginning to suck all the air out of the room.

Dean ran a lazy hand through his hair, sighing heavily. “It’s a real tough break, kid.”

“Yeah,” Jerry said, monotone and lifeless. “Real tough.”

The sight of him so flat made Dean feel uneasy, like he got when his collar was too tight around his neck. He tugged at it with his finger, hoping to alleviate some of the pressure, but found no relief in it.

He’d never seen Jerry like this before and he could hardly stomach it. He had to think of something fast. He would improvise if he had to, but he needed to get them out of this room.

“Hey, the night’s not over yet. What do you say we make the most out of it?”

Jerry angled his head to look at him now, cheek smushed up against his hands. “How are we gonna do that?”

“We’ll think of something. Come on.”

The wheels in his head were turning as he stood to gather his things. He heard Jerry do the same on the other side of the room a moment later.

By the time they were out of the club and halfway down the block, the warm summer night air surrounding them, Dean had some semblance of an idea. Jerry was a little more talkative now, curiosity replacing some of his disappointment, but Dean wouldn’t budge in telling him where they were going. He would find out soon enough anyway.

It was almost like the instant the smell of the ocean hit him, Jerry figured out Dean’s half-baked plan.

“We’re going to the beach?”

Dean smiled. “Yeah, the beach.”

“I guess nobody ever told you, but moonbeams don’t exactly have the same effect as sunshine,” he said, but the slight tug at the corner of his lips gave him away.

“We’re not trying to catch any moonbeams, you dope,” he laughed. “You ever seen the stars from the beach at night?”

Jerry shook his head. “Never.”

“You’re not gonna believe what you’ve been missing, pally.”

They stopped at the edge of the boardwalk to take off their shoes, balling up their socks and stuffing them inside. They continued onto the sand, the sea breeze tickling at their cheeks. Aside from one or two stragglers wandering along the waterline, the rest of the beach was empty. Anybody else that was awake was at a club or a bar, but that was a soft hum they could only hear faintly in the distance.

Dean stopped halfway down to the water and sat right down in the sand, not caring about dirtying his clothes. Turned out Jerry didn’t much care either by the way he plopped down next to him without so much as a word.

Dean laid back, head pillowed by the soft sand beneath it, and Jerry followed suit, putting an arm beneath his head.

Another round of uncharacteristic silence fell over them, but this time was different because it wasn’t disappointment that caused it. It was millions of tiny stars lighting up an almost pure black sky. It was the sound of the waves crashing against the shore and the smell of the salt water filling their lungs.

They spent a calm few minutes just looking and Dean was so relaxed he thought he’d be able to fall asleep if he closed his eyes. He wondered if Jerry felt the same.

Dean turned his head towards him. “Well?”

Jerry’s gaze remained upwards. “I can’t believe I’ve been doing it backwards all my life. Coming in the daytime like a putz.”

“Now you know the secret.”

Jerry’s eyes were scanning the sky, bouncing back and forth like he was looking for something and Dean watched as his smile widened. “Wanna know another secret?”

“What’s that?”

“I’m gonna go swimming.”

And just like that, the tranquil moment was broken as Jerry sprang to his feet and began stripping down to his boxers.

It took Dean a minute of uncontrollable laughter before he could start to do the same, watching Jerry take off sprinting towards the ocean, yelling “Keep up!” over his shoulder and jumping right into the waves.

Despite Jerry’s head start, Dean caught up quickly and followed him into the cool water. Any other day, the sensation would’ve made him gasp, but it was hard to notice at a time like this.

Once Dean was even with him out past the breakers, he realized that the calm waves had allowed Jerry the opportunity to float on his back, once again looking up at the stars.

“You brought me all the way out here so that you could do the same thing?” Dean asked, trying to sound annoyed, but knowing his amusement was shining through.

He gave a tiny, unapologetic shrug. “Wanted to see if you’d follow me.”

“You had to wonder?”

Jerry just closed his eyes, purposefully not answering and subsequently giving away the fact that he knew he’d been caught.

Dean reached out and grabbed him by the ankle. He pulled him closer, careful not to throw off his balance or tip him over. Normally he would’ve dunked him already, but the kid had found some peace in what was almost destined to be one of the worst endings to a night they’d ever had with the cancelled show, so he decided to spare him.

He led them around aimlessly for a little while, down the beach one way and then back down the other, with only a few words of protest on Jerry’s end.

Things like, “Do you got a license to be doin’ this?” followed by, “How about insurance? You got this thing insured like I told you, right?” and, “You better not crash me into nothin’. I don’t know if they told you, but you’re draggin’ precious cargo along here.”

It went on like this until Dean’s legs began to ache so badly he thought they might fall off. He stopped them basically in the same place they’d started and let go of Jerry’s ankle, choosing to wade in water almost up to his chest a few feet away instead.

Jerry was still floating on his back, smiling quietly to himself, when all of a sudden he gasped and Dean watched as his face twisted with something like pain, eyes closed all the while.

A beat passed and Jerry gasped again. “Quit it, Paul!” he shrieked.

Dean felt his eyebrows knit together with confusion. “Quit what?”

“Grabbing my leg!” Another wince. “Knock it off, will you?”

“I’m not grabbing your leg,” he said, hoping Jerry would hear that his voice was too far away for such a thing, but it didn’t work.

“Oh ha ha. Very funny,” he mocked. “Look at you, big tough guy trying to pull a fast one on me. I see what you’re trying to do, pal, and it ain’t gonna work. So you can just find yourself another sucker who’ll fall for your little tricks and-”

“Jer?” Dean cut him off.

Suddenly, Jerry must have noticed how far away he sounded because his eyes shot open, finding Dean quickly. “How long have you been over there?”

“Since I let go.”

“All the way over there?”

“All the way over here.”

His eyes were wide now as he sputtered. “But-but if you’re over there and I’m over here and you grabbed my leg but you didn’t grab my leg, then how did you grab my leg? What did you-”

Jerry was cut off this time by another shriek of pain. He yelled as he scrambled to his feet and ran through the water over to Dean, falling over himself and splashing like a madman. He jumped on him, arms holding him close around the shoulders and his legs securely fastened around Dean’s waist, sputtering incoherently all the while.

Dean yelped as he struggled to keep his balance now that he had an armful and an earful of panicked Jerry. His arms settled tight around his lower back, trying to keep them upright.

“What are you doing?” He yelled, trying and failing to hear himself over Jerry’s nonsense.

“But what if it was a shark? You know I don’t like sharks. Do you think it was a shark? What if it bit the whole leg? What if the whole leg is gone and I didn’t even notice? You gotta get me to a hospital. What am I gonna do? I can’t believe I gotta perform on one leg. How are we gonna do this? I mean you’ll be fine but I-”

Dean couldn’t take it anymore and gave his side a hard pinch. “Stop a second!” Jerry did just that, no longer speaking or squirming, perfectly still. Dean’s hands moved to either of Jerry’s thighs, giving them an easy squeeze. “You see? They’re both still here.”

Jerry paused a moment, registering the feeling. He pulled back, his arms now loosely looped around Dean’s neck. “Both of them?”

“Both of them.”

“Two whole legs?”

“Two whole legs.”

A smile crept across his face. “I’ll be a son of a gun.”

Dean couldn’t suppress a small laugh.

When he tilted his head slightly to look up at him, he found Jerry was already looking back down at him. Their eyes met easily, intently, and in that instant, Dean became entirely too aware of how close they were.

Jerry’s legs were still locked around his waist. His hands were on the back of his neck and Dean’s were on the small of his back. He felt Jerry’s fingers tease at the smooth, wet hair at the nape of his neck and a shiver ran so far down his spine he could feel it in his toes.

Dean’s gaze moved downward to see that Jerry’s smile had evened out, lips parted just slightly. He swallowed hard and Dean’s eyes followed the movement as his Adam’s apple bobbed, drops of water trailing in rivulets down his neck.

Dean’s heart was racing and he could feel how heavy his breathing had become in the rise and fall of his chest, less than an inch from Jerry’s.

It would be so easy. So easy to just lean up and do it. To pull him closer and kiss him like nothing else in the world existed. To get lost in the taste of the salt water on his lips and the feeling of his hands on his bare skin. And from the look in Jerry’s half-lidded eyes when he spared a glace at them, it didn’t seem like he’d stop him either.

He couldn’t though. He couldn’t risk what they had. Not when it was going so well. Not when things were looking up. Not when the Copa was on line one and the Paramount was on line two. You didn’t jeopardize your entire career on something like this.

That was the last thing they needed.

Dean blinked hard as he reluctantly brought himself back down to earth, breaking their eye contact and turning his head to one side. Jerry must have caught onto his hesitation because he held onto Dean’s shoulders as he slowly put his feet back down on the ground and took a step backwards, leaving a gap between them.

“You know, it was probably just a jellyfish or something,” Dean offered, wanting desperately to cut through the tension.

“Yeah. Or something.” Jerry rubbed at the back of his neck. He sighed heavily. “I’m getting sorta cold.”

Dean felt like his skin had never been hotter in his entire life. “Yeah, me too,” he lied.

“Wanna head in?”

Dean nodded and they swam back to shore.

He tried his very best to forget that night ever happened, to erase it from his mind. It would be better that way. It was only a spur of the moment thing that would never happen again, he told himself. It was late and Jerry was scared and that was all there was to it.

But no matter how hard he tried, it was like every time he closed his eyes, he could see Jerry looking down at him. Could feel his legs around his waist. Could feel his hands on the back of his neck. Could feel his pulse speeding.

This was getting problematic now.

 

* * *

 

 **4.**  

To them, it was almost like long train rides were a part of the job now. Like somewhere in their contract there was a microscopic line of text that read: _From now on, you will take many, many train rides across the country and you will love every second of it_. Well, maybe the second part was more of a suggestion.

They were playing at clubs up and down the eastern seaboard now, sometimes straying a little further west, too. Their manager figured it was easier to throw them on a train than to get somebody to drive them so often, so they were getting awfully used to the sight of railroad tracks.

Tonight they were on their way to Chicago, where they’d be starting a two-week run at a pretty well known club in a few days. They’d been fitted in a nice spot of their own, one of those cars where you could shut your own door and have your own space, that had bunk beds and a bathroom all to yourself. They’d only gone coach twice, but that left Dean feeling crowded, anxious, and uncomfortable. He hadn’t said so out loud, but Jerry noticed immediately and from then on in, Jerry insisted their manager book them in a room in a sleeper car.

The sun had set a few hours ago and the train was still rolling along. They would hit Chicago sometime in the late morning and they were glad to have the time to relax. Dean was laying on the bottom bunk with a comic open on his lap and Jerry was sitting in a seat not too far away, completely engrossed in a new book he’d been waiting for weeks to have the time to read.

Every so often he’d laugh out loud and read Dean the line that he found amusing so that he could share in the enjoyment, too. Other times he’d just chuckle to himself and keep going. But whenever Dean would chance a look at him, just quietly reading with a small smile pulling at his lips, something warm would spread in his chest.

Then, Jerry gave a particularly loud laugh at something, but Dean didn’t look up from his comic. He just waited for Jerry to read him whatever he found so funny. He was surprised when, instead, Jerry came over to his bunk and sat down next to him.

Dean couldn’t help but laugh when Jerry put the open book down over his comic. ”What are you doing?”

“Sitting.” He pointed to a long paragraph that took up more than three quarters of the page. “Read that.”

“Through with reading them out loud?”

“Nah. S’just too long,” he explained around a yawn.

It didn’t take long for Jerry to make himself comfortable. Dean was chuckling a few sentences into the page when he felt Jerry shift closer so that their sides were pressed together all the way down. He was midway through when Jerry tilted his head, settling it in the crook of his neck, his short hair tickling at the sensitive skin beneath Dean’s ear.

When he finally finished, Dean could feel his breath puffing against his neck, warm and long. “Hey, pally. The lights still on in there?” No response. “Jer?” Nothing.

And then he heard the soft hum of a snore that confirmed it.

He couldn’t help the easy smile that he knew had spread across his lips. He didn’t allow himself to indulge in much, especially when it came to Jerry, but he couldn’t deny how painfully domestic and effortless this was.

Jerry was a soft weight at his side, solid and sure, and he turned his head, burying his nose in Jerry’s hair. He closed his eyes slowly, allowing himself a moment to feel the things he wouldn’t dare hope for out loud, almost losing himself in it.

He knew they couldn’t stay this way for long though, and they certainly couldn’t fall asleep this way, either. Jerry’s neck would be sore beyond belief, Dean’s back would be murder, and considering they had performances to think about, he had to do his very best to prevent anything from holding them back.

He also knew there was no use in waking Jerry up to make him go to the top bunk where he normally slept. He was already out cold and it wasn’t like Dean would mind switching bunks for a night.

Gently, he leaned Jerry back against the wall and maneuvered himself out of the bed, careful not to knock into him or wake him up. When he was safely out, he positioned an arm under the bend of Jerry’s knees and the other under his shoulders, slowly shifting him down the bed so that now he was flat on his back.

When he was settled, Dean decided to spare him one final glance to make sure he was okay and hadn’t woken up.

Which was a mistake.

He was immediately taken aback by how calm Jerry looked, chest rising and falling evenly, expression smoothed out, thick eyelashes fanned across his cheek. His eyes naturally followed the gentle slope of his nose down to the strong bow of his lips.

Nobody ever got to see this side of Jerry, disarmed with his walls completely down. Nobody except Dean. Jerry showed a version of himself to the world that he constructed, and constructed masterfully at that, but Dean never bothered with putting on a face. He let the world see who he was and turned the other way if somebody didn’t like him, but those people were only few and far between.

Sometimes he wondered if Jerry got tired of it, the voice and the mugging. Dean knew he wouldn’t have been able to keep that up more than a few minutes, let alone the two years they’d been together now. He would’ve suffocated under the weight of that a long time ago. He also knew that Jerry never did anything he didn’t want to do, no matter what. If he wanted, he could drop the gags as soon as tomorrow and be equally as successful and adored. Dean just didn’t know if _Jerry_ knew that. Not yet anyway.

Maybe he’d tell him someday.

Dean was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn’t even realize that he had started pushing the hair that had fallen forward back from Jerry’s forehead, the strands soft beneath his fingertips. There wasn’t much, his hair was considerably shorter than when they first met, but it was still longer than the buzz Dean was constantly trying to talk him into.

His fingers stilled up by his hairline and he hesitated as his eyes drifted again over the contours of his face. It took everything out of him not to kiss him on the forehead. Or the cheek. Or the corner of his lips. He could do it and get this nonsense out of his system. He could get it out of his system, forget it was anything he had ever lost sleep over, and move on with his life.

Except, a long, contemplative minute found him shaking the thought from his mind, knowing that doing such a thing wouldn’t be fair to Jerry even in the slightest and he felt a heavy wave of guilt washing over him for even considering doing such a thing.

He swallowed the lump he didn’t notice had grown in his throat and slowly brought his hand back down to his side.

He shut off the lights and climbed as quietly as he could up to the top bunk, getting under the covers and pulling them all the way up to his chin. The minutes passed while he stared up at the ceiling, praying for sleep and trying not to think of what he just considered doing. He pushed the heels of his hands over his eyes so hard he could see stars, hoping to wipe the image from his mind.

He sighed heavily and turned onto his side to face the wall. When his mind finally quieted some and he was able to close his eyes with a little more ease, he could hear Jerry snoring quietly from the bed beneath his.

When was his head going to catch up with reality and realize he didn’t have a chance?

 

* * *

 

 **5.**  

Dean wasn’t in the habit of getting into fights at clubs. Fights anywhere really. In all reality, he avoided them like the plague.

Sure, he boxed for extra cash when he was younger and got involved in nonsense for pals if he had to, but only if he had to. If he didn’t, you’d find him halfway across the room before it even started.

For one thing, they usually only happened because guys were drunk. They were issues that would be solved with a bit more class if the fellas involved were sober. Drinks made you punchy and Dean could tell when somebody was in the mood to strike; he had the ability to walk away before things ever got that far. For another, fights weren’t worth the effort. And for a third, he didn’t feel like having to get his nose fixed again.

However, all of that logic flew out the window when it came to Jerry.

It was well after their last show, so late you could almost call it the morning, when they were sitting at the club’s bar, cooling off and coming down from their post-performance high with a few drinks courtesy of the house.

Dean was midway through his third or fourth scotch, he had lost count, and his head was swimming. He probably should have stopped after one like normal, but it was the end of a long week and he thought he deserved a little more than a drink simply to take the edge off. The drinks kept coming and he kept on finishing them, thinking he was completely fine. It wasn’t until he stood to go to the bathroom and Jerry had to catch him to keep from falling that he realized how much it was affecting him. Maybe he’d gone a little overboard.

Jerry was being loud. Well, he was usually loud and after some drinks, it only got worse. Except this time he had only gone through half a glass of whiskey; he wasn’t drunk. Not even close. It was the adrenaline from being on stage that was making his mouth harder to control than normal, Dean could tell. He was jittery and happy and loose and the people they kept close knew the mouthy side of him that came out once they were done for the night and still flying a little high.

The problem was that the guy Jerry had chosen to rib on tonight, some guy down at the end of the bar, had no idea it was all in good fun. And he was taking it very, very personally.

“Hey, Dean. D’you see that grease ball over there?” He started, Jersey accent thick and overstated. “What do you think he’s doin’ hanging around here all alone?” He leaned forward with his elbows on the bar, yelling in the direction of the man. “Hey, mister. What’re you doin’ here all alone? Ain’t you got a girl or somethin’?”

The man had been in the middle of bringing a glass of beer up to his mouth, but he lowered it almost immediately. “Cool it. My wife’s at home.”

“Well why the hell wouldn’t she be here? Didn’t she want to see us?” He put a hand on his chest and made a face like he was hurt, but then his eyes lit up and he snapped his fingers. “Or was it you?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know. What’d you do? To make her want you outta the house?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business.” The guy stood up from his stool, but didn’t leave his spot at the bar, and the action made Dean sit up a little straighter.

Jerry hadn’t picked up on the bad feeling, though, and ignored the movement. “Oh so you _did_ do something awful then. I know this game. If you hadn’t done somethin’ awful, you would’ve told me by now.”

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, pal, but you better watch your mouth.”

Dean’s hand tightened around his glass, but Jerry was never one to see things through halfway.

“Aw, I’m only trying to help you out.” He turned to Dean. “He doesn’t even know I’m trying to help him out.”

Dean nudged him with his elbow, hoping he’d catch the hint to lay off. “Jer, maybe you better-”

“I ain’t doing nothing wrong,” he interjected and then looked back down the bar, where the man was shooting him daggers. “I don’t like seein’ nobody alone is all.”

And suddenly the man was walking their way, stopping right in front of them. “I ain’t alone.” Their backs were against the bar.

Jerry gave an exaggerated look around them. “Unless you got some invisible chick with you, I’d have to say you’re wrong.”

Dean ignored the urge to smack him on the side of the head.

“You’re a real wise-guy, huh?”

Jerry threw the man a cocky grin. “So you’ve heard of me.”

“Had the misfortune, yeah.”

He laughed. “You’re the one who paid to get in.” Dean really wanted to kick him now, for being an idiot and for his complete lack of basic survival instincts.

“I paid to get a drink, not to get pestered by some kid with a big mouth.”

Dean discreetly made his way to his feet, leaning against the bar with his forearm, surprisingly stable considering the way he’d nearly landed on his face doing the same thing a little while ago.

Meanwhile, Jerry was still going. “Aw, sweetie, don’t get sore. I’m just pallin’ with you.”

And apparently that one was the kicker. “Call me sweetie again and you’ll find your teeth on the floor.”

Jerry opened his mouth to shoot back at him, but Dean beat him to it. “Look, buddy. He’s only joking.”

“Maybe he shouldn’t joke about people’s wives.”

“Maybe so, but it’s late and the kid’s been drinking. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” He was lying straight through his teeth, but what this guy didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. “Why don’t we just cool it?”

“Sure, we can cool it.” The guy laughed, looking back to Jerry. “This what you do? Rile people up and then get your boyfriend to clean your messes up for you?”

Dean’s fist hit his jaw before the words were even through leaving his mouth.

The next few minutes passed in a blur. He remembered the sound of glass shattering on the bar and Jerry at his side, yelling for him to stop, trying to pull him away.

From the way his hand was aching, Dean knew he got a couple solid punches in before the bartender rushed over to break them up. The taste of blood in his mouth also told him the guy had gotten in a pretty good crack or two himself.

Jerry dragged him back to their dressing room with an arm around his waist, locking the door behind them and sitting him down in one of the makeup chairs.

Dean watched him fumble around the room and ruffle through drawers in search of a clean towel, completely flustered. “I’ve never met a stupider prick in all my life. You hear that? You’re the stupidest prick I ever met in my whole life.”

“I’m feeling that.” He winced around the words, a sudden pain shooting in his lower lip. His tongue poked out to feel at the spot that was giving him particular trouble and he was met again with the taste of blood, except this time it was stronger. He brought his hand up to his mouth and when he took it away to give it a look, his fingers were stained bright red.

Once Jerry found a spare towel, he pushed one of Dean’s legs out of the way so that he could sit on the vanity directly in front of him. “Tell me. Were you born an idiot or did it take a little time?”

Dean took a second to consider the question. “Yes.”

Jerry tried to hold in a laugh, wanting to maintain a serious exterior while he was trying to chastise him, but it bubbled up in the back of his throat before he could control it. He poured water from a glass onto the towel and used it to dab at a spot high on Dean’s cheek, which made him inhale sharply.

Jerry’s face contorted with guilt. “Sorry.”

“S’alright.” Dean closed his eyes, trying to hide the pain and focus on keeping his breathing even.

Jerry was deep in thought while he continued working at the dried blood that had dripped down his cheek. “You know, you shouldn’t have done that.”

Confusion found Dean opening his eyes to look at him. Jerry’s gaze was trained on what he was doing. “Done what?”

Dean watched as he took the towel away from his face to put more water on it. “Gotten involved.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

“Yeah right,” he laughed, though it was cut short by another jolt when Jerry started working on a new spot somewhere closer to his nose. “You wanted me to sit by and watch that guy bash your brains in?”

“Yeah, maybe.”

“I don’t think so.”

“I can take care of myself.” His annoyance got the best of him and he pushed a little too hard on the cut. Dean flinched, jerking backwards, his hand going instinctively to Jerry’s knee in an attempt to ground himself. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine.” He said, only half lying.

Dean expected him to get right back to it. Instead, he softly placed his free hand on the side of Dean’s neck, thumb resting along his jawline, and slowly pulled him forward again. A silent apology to go along with the real thing.

He didn’t move his hand when he began to dab at the spot near Dean’s nose again, much more carefully this time, the tender hold keeping him close.

Dean didn’t want to keep harping, especially not now, but he needed Jerry to understand where he was coming from. So, he kept pushing, though he kept his hand on Jerry’s knee, hoping it would help convey his sincerity. “Look, I’m not saying you can’t take care of yourself. I just don’t think you knew the damage you were doing.”

“He shouldn’t have been wound so tight.”

“And you should’ve kept your mouth shut when you saw him turning red.”

Jerry was quiet for a long minute as he contemplated Dean’s words, clenching and unclenching his jaw, but he ultimately decided not to argue the point. His eyes roamed Dean’s face for any other places that needed cleaning up.

“You just. You didn’t have to do that.” His eyes zeroed in on the cut he had on his lip.

“Are you sore about it?”

He paused again. “No, I’m not sore.”

“What are you then?”

His gaze was gentler now, eyes half lidded as he shook his head. “I don’t know.” The words were barely louder than a whisper.

Dean was perfectly still as Jerry’s thumb moved towards his lip, feather light as it trailed across his cheek. He stopped right next to the cut, hesitating a moment before he gave a gentle pull down, parting Dean’s lips just slightly.

Dean was pliant under his touch, curiosity and nervous excitement coursing through his veins. Before he could think better of it, his hand moved slowly from Jerry’s knee along the side of his thigh, stopping right before his hip. It took every ounce of his fading self-control not to pull Jerry off the vanity and onto his lap.

He stopped breathing entirely when Jerry did the unthinkable and started to lean forward. It was almost painfully slow, like he was giving Dean time to stop him, but Dean didn’t move a muscle. The anticipation flared white-hot in his stomach and when he could feel Jerry’s breath on his lips, his eyes fluttered shut and-

A sudden knock on the door rang through the room like a shot.

Jerry jumped backwards like he had been burned, but his eyes were locked on Dean. He was panting, chest heaving when he tried to swallow down his shock and yelled, “Yeah?” With a shake to his voice that Dean wasn’t sure if he was imagining or not.

The muffled voice on the other side of the door came in the form of the bartender. “It’s Al. Open up.”

And just like that, the moment was broken.

Jerry’s eyes were apologetic in Dean’s before he stood to go answer the door.

In walked the bartender and the owner of the club with hundreds of apologies about the fight even though they all knew Jerry was the one who started it. The air was thick and tense, but Dean didn’t know if it was from the talk of the fight or the settling reality of what had almost just happened.

Every time Dean spared a glance in his direction, Jerry was already looking at him, the same sense of longing in his eyes that had been there only moments ago. Dean understood it well; it was the same sense of longing that had been pulling at him for years.

Maybe Jerry was feeling what he was feeling. And maybe things would’ve turned out differently if nobody had come barging in to ruin their moment.

But maybe they were better off that somebody had.

The rest of the night passed quickly and whether it was the club owner or their manager or a friend, there was always someone with them, probably trying to keep them out of any more trouble. They never found the opportunity to have a moment alone, either to talk about what had almost happened or to finish what they’d started.

Dean let himself be hopeful.

The next day when they caught dinner between rehearsal and their show, Dean waited for Jerry to bring it up, any of it, but he never did. So he decided not to either. They moved on from it entirely, neither acknowledging it nor acting like it even happened in the first place.

Disappointment didn’t cover the half of it, but he understood where Jerry was coming from.

And while Dean knew he should probably be grateful that things were completely normal, he couldn’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if they hadn’t been interrupted.

 

* * *

 

 **+1.**  

November in Maryland’s still supposed to be fairly warm. It’s supposed to be cooler, but not uncomfortable, getting you ready for the blast of cold air that December brings with it. Blizzards shouldn’t happen, especially not blizzards that close clubs and snow so heavy that cars can’t drive.

Yet, here they were, checking into a hotel due to exactly that. Nobody expected a snowstorm like this to blow through and it would be putting it mildly to say it ruined all of their travel plans. They needed to be in a car and on their way to Massachusetts as soon as their last show in Baltimore ended in order to make it to Boston in time for their gig tomorrow. It was a tight schedule, but they could make it work if everything went according to plan.

They had only gotten a few miles outside the city before their driver dropped the news that they were going to have to call it quits and wait at least until the thick of the storm passed through before they could start up again. He pulled off the highway and brought them into the nearest town, which, by the looks of it, couldn’t have had more than a few hundred people living it.

Naturally the hotel was small and because it was so late, almost all of the rooms were taken. They had expected that. There were a few open, but the man at the front desk made it very clear that there were no more rooms with two single beds; only rooms with one queen bed. He told them he understood if they wanted to try for a different hotel and even gave them the name of one down the road, but they waved it off.

Their driver didn’t want to be on the road anymore and they were too tired to be bothered by it. One night wouldn’t be the end of the world and besides, it wasn’t like they’d never shared before. During their first few months as a team, their hotel stays almost always involved sharing a bed because they had been unable to afford a room with two. It was nothing new.

The man at the desk was still apologizing when he handed them their key, but they continually assured him there was nothing to be sorry about and instead thanked him for taking them in so late. They grabbed their bags and went over to the nearest staircase to find their way up to their room.

The first thing Jerry did when they got up to the room, only after throwing his suitcase on the floor, was walk over to the windows and open the curtains.

Dean watched him with a curious sense of amusement. “What are you doing?” He asked, already having begun the process of taking off his suit.

“What does it look like? I’m opening the shades.”

“Why bother? It’s nighttime.” He threw his jacket and pants over a chair in the corner, too tired and lazy to put them on a hanger.

“Wanna be able to see the snow,” he shrugged, mesmerized by the sight of the snow swirling around outside. “Makes me feel kinda cozy.”

“Makes me feel cold.” Dean was down to his boxers and went into his suitcase for a clean t-shirt to wear.

“But we’re inside.”

He pulled the t-shirt over his head as he walked over to one side of the bed. “Still gives me the shivers.”

“Get in the bed then, stupid. The cold can’t get ya in there.”

Dean laughed and did just that, content with the immediate warmth that it brought him. He pulled the sheets up to his stomach, placing one hand on top of them and the other beneath his head on the pillow.

Jerry started with taking off his suit as he walked over towards the bed, placing each item on it as he took it off. “You know when you’re a kid and snow’s the best thing in the world?”

“Mhm,” Dean hummed, eyes easily finding Jerry a few feet or so away.

“But then every adult tells you they hate it so you’re sorta waiting for the day when you don’t think it’s pretty anymore?”

“Yeah I guess so.” Dean was glad Jerry was focused on what he was doing; it made him feel slightly less embarrassed about the fact that couldn’t take his eyes off Jerry’s hands, deft and well-practiced in their movements as he unbuttoned his shirt.

“I never understood that.” He was down to just his shorts now, straightening up his suit and his dress shirt on his side of the bed. “I’m all grown up and I keep waiting for that day to come and it never does.”

“Well there’s your first mistake.”

His eyebrows were pinched as he looked over at Dean. “How do you mean?”

“Assuming you ever grew up.” Jerry grabbed a pillow off the bed and threw it right on his face, making him laugh, but Dean was quick to clarify. “I’m not sayin’ that’s a bad thing.”

“Better not.” Jerry was laughing now, too, as he walked across the room and threw his suit on top of Dean’s.

“I’d never,” he emphasized. “If you grew up, we wouldn’t have an act.”

“And don’t you forget it.”

Dean waited for Jerry to go into his suitcase for a shirt to sleep in, but he never did. Instead, he walked back over near the door to turn the light off and then swiftly climbed into the bed without a shirt at all.

Dean tried not to think about it when their arms brushed as Jerry settled onto his back. He couldn’t start thinking about this now, not _here_ of all places. Not when Jerry going to be less than a foot away and within arm’s reach all night long.

Dean turned onto his stomach, hands folded somewhere beneath the pillow. His head was turned in Jerry’s direction. Jerry was still trying to do his very best to look out the window to see the snow despite being some distance away.

The snow from the open window illuminated the dark room with a soft glow, hazy and easy on the eyes. Dean could make out the hard lines of Jerry’s handsome profile if he looked hard enough. There was his forehead, his eyelashes, his nose, his lips, his chin, his Adam’s apple. The blanket covered the rest of him from the chest down and so Dean somehow ended up back at his lips. He always ended up back at his lips. It was like they were teasing him.

Except now it was worse because he almost knew what it was like to feel them on his. He almost knew what it would be like to kiss him.

Of course they kissed on stage plenty of times, almost every night, but that was so different on every level that Dean didn’t count them. He didn’t even consider them to be the same thing.

Those were for the audience. He wanted one for _them_.

He worried his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to figure out how he was going to make it through the night when all of this was threatening to topple over in his mind.

He was surprised by the sound of his own voice.

“Jer?”

He turned his head on the pillow with a casual, “Yeah?” and his eyes, earnest and wide, caught Dean’s.

Dean immediately lost himself in them, only inches away, forgetting his whole reason for speaking in the first place, although he wasn’t sure there had even been one. Jerry looked at him expectantly, waiting patiently for Dean to fill in the silence, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t risk what might spill out.

But this wasn’t to say that his impulse control wasn’t still falling through the cracks.

Instead of speaking, he reached his hand across the few inches of space between them and rested it on Jerry’s cheek. Jerry blinked hard at him for a quick second, but he didn’t pull away from the touch. Dean heard Jerry’s breath catch when he began to move his thumb in gentle sweeps across his cheekbone. He watched as something in his eyes softened and the tiniest smile pulled at the corners of his lips.

Suddenly, Dean wasn’t scared anymore. Of anything. Not of Jerry’s reaction or of what the consequences could be. That all disappeared when he realized the way Jerry was looking at him, with something like affection and nerves all rolled up into one. It made him wonder why he was ever afraid in the first place.

It felt like the simplest thing in the world when Dean leaned forward and pressed his lips to Jerry’s. He was tentative and a little unsure at first, but his heart stuttered when Jerry didn’t hesitate, returning it with equal pressure the second he knew what was happening. After the initial shock wore off, they began to find an easy rhythm, lips brushing softly as they became more comfortable. Even here they didn’t miss a beat.

They didn’t even break apart when Jerry turned from his back to his side, now completely facing Dean. It was only a second before Dean did the same, pulling him closer, enveloping him in a strong embrace as his hand moved slowly from Jerry’s cheek and under his arm to rest between his shoulder blades, fingers spread wide over his smooth, exposed skin. Jerry’s hand was buried in Dean’s hair, stroking so gently that Dean could see stars behind his eyes.

They weren’t sure how long they had spent like this, content to just explore and feel. Nothing else in the world existed; only Jerry and the taste of his lips and the sound of his breathy sighs when Dean did something he particularly liked.

They were both out of breath when Dean finally pulled away. It took Jerry a long second to open his eyes, like maybe if he opened them, this would all disappear. Dean didn’t have to worry; the warmth in his chest and the rapid speed of his pulse assured him that this was all very, very real.

Dean’s fingers were tracing up and down the hard knobs of his spine when Jerry broke the silence.

“I thought you’d never do that.”

Dean’s eyebrows pinched together immediately with shock. “What?”

“I mean it took you long enough.”

“Are you kidding?”

Jerry shook his head. “I’ve been dying over here,” he chuckled.

“How long?” Jerry tried to duck his head and hide his face in Dean’s shoulder. “No come on. Don’t do that.” Dean squirmed, using his shoulder to nudge him back so that he could see him, though his head was still tilted down. “How long?”

Jerry looked up at him through his lashes. “First time I saw you.”

Dean couldn’t believe his ears. “You never said anything.”

“Neither did you.” He brought his head back up, level with Dean’s again.

“I didn’t want to scare you away.”

“Well there’s your first mistake,” Jerry’s smile grew as he repeated Dean’s words from earlier.

Dean was smiling before he could help it and he decided to play along, too. “How do you mean?” he asked, repeating Jerry’s words.

“Assuming you could ever get rid of me.”

Jerry laughed when Dean leaned in again, kissing him soundly this time, lips separating with a soft smack.

“You’re crazy,” Dean said with nothing but pure affection laced in his tone.

“And you’re a dope.”

Dean rolled over onto his back, using the momentum to pull Jerry on top of him, legs straddling his hips. His hands were on Jerry’s sides, bare skin soft and warm. Jerry’s smile turned mischievous, shifting crooked to one side as he looked down at him.

He leaned down slowly, almost teasing as his hands came to rest on the pillow on either side of Dean’s head. He stopped right as their noses touched. “So this is how it’s gonna be now?” he asked.

Dean tilted his chin up slightly. “You got any objections?”

“Not on your life, pal.”

Jerry’s lips covered his before he could respond.

They spent hours like this, tangled together, excited and eager to finally be able to feel what they’d been wanting for so long, but hadn’t ever been able to express. The relief in being able to be open and honest was a weight off Dean’s chest he hadn’t known was quite so heavy until now. And with Jerry here, dragging his lips over his neck and tugging his shirt over his head, Dean’s thoughts were a combination of, _‘Why did I wait so long to do this?’_ and, _‘God, I could get used to it.’_

When they settled down some time later, Jerry tucked himself securely into Dean’s side under his arm. Dean buried his nose in Jerry’s hair, breathing deeply and pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head, unable to remember a time that he’d felt so at ease.

He fell asleep with Jerry’s soft breath puffing against his neck and for the first time, Dean realized that despite the fear that had been pulling at him for so long, he had never been quite so sure of anything in his entire life.

They belonged together.

**Author's Note:**

> So one day I opened a word doc and ended up with 11,000 words of a Martin and Lewis fic??? Don't ask me how that happened, but I really hope you like it!! 
> 
> And as always, you can find me at holdenduckfield.tumblr.com


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